


Curing Light

by Troubadourk



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Fluff, Gratuitous talk of nail art, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Troubadourk/pseuds/Troubadourk
Summary: "Josh Lucas is not budget Matthew McConaughey.”“Not budget, babe. Discount. Like, he isn’t a Dollar Tree Matthew McConaughey. He’s a solid Aldi McConaughey. Same great flavor with half the calories.”Karkat practices nail art, Dave watches.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58
Collections: Davekat Week 2020





	Curing Light

“What’s with the drone?”

Karkat’s eyes shoot up to meet yours, frowning severely, and your brain rewinds, plays back what you just said—welp, fuck, drones. Right.

“Like fun ones, I mean. Not like flying murder ones. Haha.” Haha. You fuck. You goddamn mouthy moron.

Karkat just rolls his eyes, thank god, and keeps digging through the various packages he’s got spread all over his bedroom floor. “It’s a UV lamp for curing gel. I’ve been using Kanaya’s, but this one came with the kit.”

“Cool.” It is cool. This stuff—it all smells weird and you get fidgety as fuck when you try to let Karkat paint even the most basic shit on your nails, but—you like it. You like the way Karkat gets when he talks about it, how excited and proud he is whenever he’s managed a new technique. You like the way his tongue pokes out from between his fangs when he’s concentrating on pushing stinky acrylic around, or swearing loudly at his water marbling attempts.

“Do you want to put on a movie or something?” He mutters. He’s lining up his bottles and tools on the low table in front of the futon. You even like the disembodied mannequin hand he uses for practice. He won’t let you draw cool tattoos on it.

You pick _Sweet Home Alabama_ because you feel shitty about the drone comment. Karkat doesn’t call you out, which means he’s either in a really good mood, or a really bad one.

* * *

“ _Fuck_ you.” Karkat barks, scraping the emery board across the nail he just built with a fierceness that makes you wince. “Josh Lucas is _not_ budget Matthew McConaughey.”

“Not budget, babe. Discount. Like, he isn’t a Dollar Tree Matthew McConaughey. He’s a solid Aldi McConaughey. Same great flavor with half the calories.”

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Karkat’s half-smiling, score score score— “And it’s still wrong, Josh Lucas is perfectly good in his own right—”

“Name _one_ other movie this dude has been in. One.”

The emery board moved a little slower. Karkat exhaled loudly. “The…Prestige?”

Dave laughed. “Do what? He was-fucking-not. David Bowie was in that flick.”

“So?”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that and also we’re gonna watch The Labyrinth now.”

Karkat looks up at you with this sly little expression that makes a knee-knocking amount of dopamine flood your brain.

“Put on Zoolander instead.” He says. Right.

* * *

Karkat laughs like a hyena at every one of Ben Stiller’s stupid antics, despite the fact you’ve both seen this movie over a dozen times. He’s done with whatever complicated stuff he was doing before and is just painting like normal now—you can’t get a good look at whatever he’s making as he passes the hand underneath the lamp, studies it like a scientist with a petri dish, then dabs and brushes and prods at it some more.

Instead, you watch the muscles in his back move as he works. He’s so confident when he’s like this, uncharacteristically quiet, unguarded. You just watch and watch and use the other 1/100th of your brain not studying Karkat to repeat the same dumb shit you say every time you see this flick.

“Owen Wilson is a little bit of a budget McConaughey.” Karkat says once he’s done. He stands up and stretches and you mourn his stupid long shirt which doesn’t ride up to show his bony spine. You can still check out his ass though, which—top notch, still one-hundo percent great as usual.

“Only a little?”

Karkat flops onto the futon and immediately crowds into your space like the little burrowing, heat-seeking crab-monster he is.

“What’s the verdict on your finished project?”

Karkat just shrugs, so you untangle yourself enough to lean toward the table and take a look.

There’s 5 long, almond-shaped, lavender colored nails with overlapping clouds of purple and blue and pink at the bottom, and dots of white and yellow starlight at the top. They’re beautiful. You say so.

Karkat shrugs. “I don’t like those dual forms. I didn’t get the shape right…”

“Everyone’s a critic. It’s a sunset, right?”

Karkat looks pleased at that. “Yeah.”

“And you did those puffy white cloud nails last week. Nice.”

Karkat shrugs again and pretends like he really needs to pay attention to _Zoolander_. You try to distract him from _Zoolander_. It isn’t hard.

* * *

You’re trying to enjoy your post-makeout cuddle session, but you can’t. It’s silent for all of thirty seconds before you can’t help yourself, which you guess isn’t so bad, since what you’re doing is apologizing.

“That thing I said about your lamp was stupid. Sorry.”

Karkat drags his nails—mint green, nothing fancy—through your hair and pins you into place with his yellow eyes. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Not kinda.” You close your eyes. You know he’ll let you off the hook, that he’ll try to convince himself he’s being overly sensitive. “Definitely. I need to think before I speak.” Understatement of the millennia, Strider.

Karkat’s warm breath puffs against your face, and you open your eyes to see him smiling. “I’m not going to go all to pieces over a word, Dave. It’s _fine._ But I appreciate you making an effort. Most people wouldn’t care at all about that kind of thing. I don’t think anyone else I know would care even half that much about it.”

You shift a little, feeling awkward. “I don’t want to say anything that hurts your feelings, at all.”

“I know. Thank you.” Karkat smooches you, and you feel your remaining tension easing away. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, for some reason.” He mumbles.

“Thinking about what?”

He hesitates. “Ho—Alternia. I don’t know why. I wish I could forget.”

_I wish I could forget_. “Do you miss it?”

Karkat sputters. “ _Fuck_ no. Not even a little bit.” He glances at you shyly, the tips of his ears reddening. “Not anymore.”

You grin like an idiot at that. “Cool.”

You’re both quiet again, and you don’t feel the need to interrupt it this time. You trace patterns into Karkat’s back and try to match your breathing to his, watching the tiny, barely perceptible thump of his pulse moving under his skin.

“Back home,” he whispers, “I could never be under the sun.” 

You think about the cheery, puffy white clouds and the muted, star-studded sunset, and bury your face in his hair.


End file.
